Gone Like Summer
by fantasyxfreeme
Summary: Suddenly, no one else was there. It was just me and her, and those long-gone Texas summer days. Mitchie/Mikayla, Demena, femslash. Don't like don't read. Oneshot.


**Okay, i know what you're all thinking. "Wtf why are you posting new oneshots every other freaking day?!". well i have NO clue! i know i suck for not finishing Kill Me? (and i AM going to finish it) but i keep getting all these random oneshot ideas!!! **

**This is my second M rated fic and it IS M for a reason. However, the sex scene's really not graphic or long so feel free to skip it or do whatever you want. I actually really like this one. It's a little rocky at the beginning but it gets better-written after the first bit, i promise. **

**DISCLAIMER: i own NUFFING except the plot.**

When I was a little girl, I used to hate summer vacation. I was probably the only 7 year-old in the world who didn't count down the days until "freedom". But summer just meant boredom for me a lot of the time. I'd spend them with my mom mostly, which was fine, but sometimes I'd long for friends my own age to play with. I had plenty at school so that was never a problem, but for some reason or another, I didn't live near them. Or any kids for that matter.

Sometimes, even my mom would have to work odd hours or on weekends, and she'd be gone too. That was when I'd make my way next door and sit in the kitchen of Mrs. Torres. I used to feel guilty sometimes, because it was like I had two moms when some kids didn't even have one.

She always had cookies in the oven and sometimes we'd make them together. Mrs. Torres had a lemon tree in the backyard, and almost every hot summer day we'd make fresh lemonade. When my mom couldn't be there, she always was. She bandaged my scraped knees, helped me with my spelling homework, and even baked my birthday cakes (she owned her own catering business). She never once allowed my mom to go buy one or even try to make it herself.

One scorching Texas summer, a week or two after I had completed 2nd grade, my mom had an emergency call in (she was a surgeon at the local hospital) at 7 one morning. So she pulled me from sleep and took me next door while I was still in my Barney pj's. Mrs. Torres smiled widely as I walked through her kitchen, yawning. She picked me up, resting me on her hip, and let me poke at the pancakes she was making with the spatula. She told me over breakfast that she was going to pick up her niece from the airport that day because she was staying the summer with her.

Mrs. Torres had told me about her niece before, many times. She was 7, like me, and lived in California with her parents, Mrs. Torres' sister and brother-in-law. I was excited to meet her, I remember, because I desperately wanted a friend around.

At around noon, we left in Mrs. Torres' old Ford pickup truck. She always complained about its age, but I truly loved everything about it. We drove the half hour to the airport, singing loudly to old tapes she had stored under the seat.

The airport was crowded as always, and I held her hand tight as to not get separated from her. We followed the signs to her niece's airline, and stood patiently, waiting for her to disembark. Mrs. Torres told me her niece's name, as if she could tell that I'd forgotten it.

Mitchie.

I liked it for some reason. It rolled off my tongue like melted butter. After everyone else had been released from Flight 627 from Los Angeles, the flight attendants began bringing off the unaccompanied minors. Mrs. Torres recognized her at once, of course, but my 7 year-old brain fumbled as it tried to remember what she looked like from the pictures I'd seen. She knelt down, her hand on my shoulder, and pointed.

The girl who her finger landed on was the first person, girl or boy, to take my breath away. I didn't know what it felt like, before that day, to have butterflies. To be afraid to blink in case she vanished in that instant. To stutter.

"Mitchie!" Mrs. Torres said loudly with an immeasurable smile on her face. She scooped up the running girl and embraced her tightly.

"Aunt Connie!" the girl said, looking just as happy as her aunt.

Mrs. Torres set her down, and turned towards me, kneeling again. "Mitchie, this is Mikayla, the girl I told you about. She lives next door, and her mom's a doctor so I take care of her sometimes," she said, gesturing towards me.

"Hi, Mikayla," Mitchie said, a wide smile on her face. She stuck her hand out to shake mine.

"H-hi…" I said, reaching to shake as well. The first time I had ever blushed was when our hands touched. As she let go, I reached up to touch my cheek. It felt like it was on fire!

"Let's go get your suitcase, Mitchie," Mrs. Torres said, standing up and taking both our hands. We made our way to the luggage carousel, and I listened to Mitchie talking animatedly about her flight and what she had been doing back home. I was quiet the entire time, waiting for the flames in my cheeks to die back down. It did after a few minutes, but the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach stayed for much longer.

That summer, our first summer, passed far too quickly for my taste. I became more and more of a regular at Mrs. Torres' house, and when I wasn't over there, Mitchie was with me. My mom seemed to love her from the second she walked through our front door. She probably thought Mitchie would be a good influence on me. I could be a bit out of hand back then, I have to admit.

I turned 8 in July, and for once, I didn't have a party. I wasn't desperate to see all my school friends. I was content with just having a fun day with my mom, Mrs. Torres, and Mitchie. I have to think of Mitchie like she changed me the second our eyes locked that first time. I grew up a little every time I saw her. Petty things, like how many toys I had and if I looked pretty, had no value. I just wanted to impress her.

She was my first breathless moment, my first blush, my first _real _best friend, and also my first goodbye.

We rode to the airport holding hands the whole way. Mitchie left in late August, the day before her birthday, so she could be home to celebrate with her parents and then go back to school. I'd spent the previous weeks trying to convince her to live here with me, but to no avail. She always just chuckled and shook her head.

Mitchie left me in tears, and that next year, while I waited for her to return, I never felt whole. It sounds clichéd to say, but she took a piece of me with her. She never gave it back.

When she returned the next summer, both of us a year older and a year smarter, the butterflies came back with her. And somehow, they'd doubled their numbers. Mitchie had gotten taller, and so had I. But other than that, she looked the same. Just like I remembered her.

The summer we turned 11 was, to that point, my favorite summer that I had ever spent, even with Mitchie. She had returned with her guitar that year, and though it took some coaxing, she'd been playing for me. She played me the first song she ever wrote. I thought it was perfect. I thought her _voice_ was perfect. That was the first time I'd ever heard her sing seriously, without the radio or a CD in the background. It was beautiful.

The hottest day that year found me and her bottled up in my room. Why the two of us lived in states with warm climates, neither of us knew. We hated the heat. My blinds were down, the lights were off, the fan was on high, and we sat on my bed, listening to the radio and laughing as we told stories from the year we'd been apart. Mitchie told me that her California best friend, Sierra, had gotten her first kiss that year, from a boy named Troy Gallagher.

"Do you think it'll ever happen for me?" she asked after a few moments of comfortable silence.

I cocked my head to the side, confused. "Do I think what'll happen, Mitch?"

"My first kiss," she elaborated. "What if…what if I never get one? I'd hate to die without ever being kissed…"

I said nothing at this point. The fan in the corner had just rotated towards us, lifting her gorgeous hair. It was dim in my room, from the lights being off. However, the bright sun still beat its way through any crack in the blinds, so it wasn't pitch black. I remembered the song she'd played for me a few days previous. I blushed.

And then I kissed her.

It was short and sweet, nothing more than our lips gently brushing together. Our curious eyes were left open. We both pulled back, smiling goofily.

"Now you won't die without being kissed," I said softly, feeling my blush sinking down into my neck.

The summer when we were 13 was another favorite. That year, Mitchie came back to me without her glasses. She'd called me of course when her mom took her to the optometrist a few months previous, so I had already been expecting it. But nothing could compare to actually really seeing her eyes directly. She was beautiful. Mitchie was beautiful no matter what was on her, but being able to see her eyes even better than before was just the icing on the cake.

The year we were 15 was arguably my least favorite summer that I have ever spent with her. That year was the year she had her first boyfriend.

His name was Shane Grey. He went to her school, and she'd known him since the 5th grade, when he'd moved to California from New York. He was tall, skinny but slightly built, and had perfect brown hair. I hated him. Mitchie called him almost every night, meaning that our day together was cut off at about 8.

Mrs. Torres didn't seem to like him much either. I slumped over on the kitchen table dejectedly, waiting for Mitchie to come back downstairs. She'd been on the phone with him for over an hour already.

"Something wrong, Mickey?" Mrs. Torres asked, walking over and sitting down across from me.

I didn't even bother lifting my head. I said "I hate Shane Grey" but it came out muffled, sounding something like "Uh hwoot shin grah".

"Try that again, would you Mikayla?" Mrs. Torres asked, an eyebrow raised.

I sat up, pouting, and repeated what I had said. She laughed, before leaning forward and quietly speaking. "Are you-"

"You ready to go, Mickey?" Mitchie called from upstairs. I could hear her thumping down the stairs, clearly done with her phone conversation.

I never did find out what Mrs. Torres was planning on saying to me. Shane cheated on Mitchie with some hoe-face named Miley Stewart, who apparently was their Cheerleading Captain. Mitch ruthlessly dumped him and never looked back.

When we were 17, Mitchie and I went camping. We loaded up Gertrude (what we had fondly named Mrs. Torres' Ford pickup) and struck out for nature. Outside town, far enough so that the lights couldn't interfere with our view, we set up camp.

We had a large tent set up with a fire pit outside, a giant blanket spread out in front of it. We started it up with logs brought from home, and had a blast roasting hot dogs and making s'mores. After we'd eaten our fill, we let the first burn down to just coals, and lay back on the blanket to look at the stars.

"This is so pretty…" Mitchie murmured from the crook of my shoulder. She'd snuggled up closely to me, and I let her. I swallowed the lump in my throat, attempting to find my voice. But it was really hard to concentrate when she smelled so good…

I forced a nod, resting my cheek on the top of her head. She yawned, and turned to bury her head in my neck. I closed my eyes, turning my face towards her forehead, and pressing a kiss to it. We lay there like that for some time, and I'd thought that she'd nodded off.

My eyes shot open again when I felt lips on my neck. Mitchie was kissing it softly, moving up towards my jaw. Suddenly she turned, her arm going to my other side and she lay over me. Her eyes pierced mine, her hair falling around her, framing her face.

"Mitch?" I choked out quietly.

"Stop me if this isn't what you want," she said in a whisper, bringing our lips together for the first time in 6 years.

This time, when she left, homebound, we kissed goodbye.

The next summer, when we were 18, was our last summer as children. And when she left in the fall, I would be leaving too, though we were bound for separate universities. We planned to see each other at least monthly.

Our first time was on a Wednesday in the last days of August, just a week before we were both to leave. We'd talked about it before, and both of us knew that we wanted it desperately. But there had never been a right time.

Lightning was flashing as the two of us ran, hand in hand, from the movie theatre. Rain was pelting down and in seconds we were soaked. We'd been forced, by the crowd, to park in the very back of the parking lot where almost no one else was. It was visibly getting dark as night began to set in.

Screeching and laughing, we leapt into Gertrude, trying to avoid being wetter than necessary. We laughed more, looking at each other's wet, stringy hair. Mitchie reached up as our giggling died down, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Her hand lingered on my cheek. I still remember her scent mixed with rain. It was the most perfect scent in the world.

She pulled me in to kiss her. Our lips moved against each other hotly, leaving us both gasping for breath. I climbed over onto her lap, straddling her as we continued kissing. Her hands grasped my hips.

I moved one hand from her cheeks to the hem of her shirt, letting my fingertips rest on her stomach. Mitchie's lips left mine to go to my neck. I let a moan slip past my tongue as she nibbled my pressure point. I let my hand wander higher, underneath her thin shirt, to cup her breast through the material of her bra. She grunted against the skin of my neck and moved to the other side.

I let my hands go around to her back, and pulled her shirt up and over her head, tossing it into the back of the truck. I moved for her bra, and fumbled, finally undoing the clasp. I slid it off her and it joined her shirt in the dark depths of the vehicle.

Our lips clashed together again, tongues battling. I grasped the button of her jeans and un-did it. She reached down, holding my wrist and stopping me from removing them.

"You (kiss) still (kiss) have all your (kiss) clothes on," she said between kisses. Mitchie quickly disposed of both my shirt and bra as well. We each carefully slid our pants and undergarments off, and we pressed together, bare, as our mouths battled on.

Her hands slid up my arms and into my hair, where she grasped my scalp as I reached down, shaking, for the first time. She hissed as I slid a first finger into her. I pressed my lips to her cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. I added another finger, and began moving them around. She moaned repeatedly as I went faster. She reached her climax, shuddering, and I pulled my hand back.

We were both breathing hard, steam coating the windows of the truck. I kissed her ear lobe as we stayed like that, quiet for a moment.

"I love you," she whispered to me.

"I love you too," I said against her skin. "I've always loved you, Mitchie."

By the time we wandered back to our houses it was late. Mrs. Torres' light was out, and my house was dark. My mom had a night shift at that time. We elected to stay at my house, and the next morning we woke up, wearing nothing, in my bed.

We went off to college just as planned. That turned out to be the last full summer we ever spent at home together. She majored in English and moved in with me after we both graduated. I started Med School as she got her teaching degree and began instructing as a 10th grade English teacher.

"Okay we're ready to begin Miss Martial."

A voice broke my reverie. The director was standing in front of me, a clipboard in one hand and a walkie-talkie in another. I nodded curtly, gripping my bouquet with a death grip. I turned to face the audience as she hurried away, gesturing wildly for the music to start. The crowd stood, turning to look behind them as I swallowed repeatedly.

The doors swung open, revealing Mitchie, grasping her father's arm. She was smiling at me with the kind of content grin that brides usually have. She took my arm, letting go of her father's.

At weddings, people always say "this is the first day of our life together". But with Mitchie, I didn't feel that way. The first day of our life began the second our eyes locked, all those years ago. I fell in love with her, as a 7 year-old girl, in that second. Suddenly, no one else was there. It was just me and her, and those long-gone Texas summer days.

**R&R so i know if it was good or horrible? si?**


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